


The Way Things Change (And Stay The Same)

by Tru_tru



Series: Human and Werewolf (Together Forever) [2]
Category: Lost Girl
Genre: Character Death, F/M, NOT Dyson or Kenzi, Not Time Travel, Original Character(s), Sequel, Smut, Steampunk, Time Jump, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 09:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14233974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tru_tru/pseuds/Tru_tru
Summary: In this sequel to How Destiny Works (Or How It Doesn't), Kenzi and Dyson find themselves hundreds of years in the future, after Kenzi is granted Fae longevity from a dying Trick. Though Dark and Light Fae are now at peace, the war between humans and the now revealed Fae rages on, with Kenzi as the unofficial ambassador. Between dodging assassination attempts and fighting for peace, a new threat lurks in the shadows. Is Kenzi and Dyson's love strong enough to withstand it?





	The Way Things Change (And Stay The Same)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Back Bitches!!!
> 
> Now for something a little different. This shiz is gonna be long and hopefully much better than the original. Strap in for worldbuilding and steampunk goodness, cuz I'm taking the shows aesthetic to its logical conclusion. 
> 
> Also, there's gonna be smut and feels. Enjoy!

Her heart is pounding in her chest. She does her best to breathe through it, to listen for the crunch of gravel underfoot or a harsh breath- anything to give her a sense of where her attacker is now.

 

She presses her back against the brick wall, missing the days when bullets were finite. Technically they still are, but the particle displacement gun that this thug is packing has thousands of shots.

 

 _Fucking high tech trash._ She thinks. But she’s no better, gripping her own advanced weaponry: a tiny sonic blaster that she keeps clipped to her ankle for emergencies like this.

 

The back alleys in this part of town are more like a maze than anything, but she’s managed to maintain her sense of direction. If she heads northwest she’ll hit Third Street, and then it’s only half a block to The Amber. And she’s wasted all the time she can as a sitting duck.

 

She aims up and to her left, firing a single shot at a brick wall, leaving a considerable gouge in the building.

 

“Shit!” Says the goon, and Kenzi can just imagine him scrambling to protect his three-piece suit. Clearly whoever hired him chose poorly. If it were her, she’d have known to hire a hitman who was willing to get his hands dirty. But then again, she wouldn’t have outsourced the job in the first place. If you want a job done right…

 

Rubble rains down and she makes a break for it. She’s fast- always has been- and in moments is rewarded with the sight of a soggy Third Street, complete with horse-drawn carriages and pedestrians hugging themselves against the drizzle.

 

She doesn’t try to blend with them- these are all Uptown types, with top hats and full bustles skirts- just hugs the wall and moves as fast as she can without drawing attention. With every step her gut tightens, hoping this douche isn’t stupid enough to start a shootout in public.

 

She steals a glance behind her and sees her pursuer scanning the open street; probably assuming she hopped on the back of a buggy. When she reaches the stairs that lead to The Amber’s basement entrance, she’s almost sure she’s slipped past him. But almost sure isn’t enough.

 

Once in the door, her back finds the wall again. There’s a tired looking woman behind the coat check, and her neon green hair clashes unpleasantly with the entry room’s red tones. 2030’s techno music pulses from behind an ornate wooden door.

 

“You okay?” The green haired woman asks, not sounding all that concerned. Kenzi nods but holds her position; gun ready. “You know we don’t allow weapons in the club.”

 

Kenzi fights the urge to roll her eyes.

 

“Well once I go in I’ll hand it over, kay? I’ve got a bogie on my tail.”

 

“Huh?” Then Kenzi does roll her eyes. The centuries have not been kind to her vernacular.

 

“Don’t worry about it.” The woman shrugs and goes back to scrolling down the plexi-screen on the counter. Kenzi waits. If he comes in she’ll have to move fast. She switches the blaster’s mode from Radiant to Pinpoint. One shot to the leg should do it, then she can grab his weapon and find out who sent him. She’s got her suspicions of course, but every hunch needs confirmation.

 

The minutes tick by and no one comes through the door. Her pulse starts to even out, and roughly eight minutes later she lowers the gun.

 

The other woman’s eyes flick upward as she approaches the coat check, which is set into the wall like a concession stand.

 

“ID.” She says. Kenzi holds up her left wrist, and the woman scans the metal bracelet on it. “Gun too. And anything else you’re packing.”

 

Kenzi surrenders the gun and a handful of knives she had stashed in various places.

 

“Just show your ID on the way out and you’ll get ‘em back.”

 

“Thanks, and…” She leans in. “If anyone comes in asking about me, play dumb, kay? I’ll throw in an extra fifty credits to your tip.” The woman raises a neon green eyebrow, but keeps the rest of her face stone still.

 

“Yeah. Sure.” Kenzi lets a little of the tension drain from her shoulders and steps through the door.

 

The Amber is a mass of contradictions. Colored strobe lights illuminate antique furniture and the DJ blasts centuries-old music on the highest of HiFi speakers. It’s barely 11 o’clock in the morning but the dance floor is packed; young men and women probably still going from the night before.

 

She skirts the dance floor and heads for the bar, walking past the giant columns of amber-encased mutated creatures (some Fae, some not) that give the club its name. They give Kenzi the creeps. She doesn’t get the impulse to display the products of chemical warfare like fucking prize bucks.

 

“My my my, look who it is! And my wallet _was_ feeling a little light.” The man behind the bar is thin, with long black dreadlocks tied securely behind his back. She smiles and takes a stool.

 

“Sorry Maddox, I’m not here for information. Just a drink.” He shakes his head.

 

“Shame. I got a poker match next week. What’ll ya have?”

 

The vodka helps. But it doesn’t change the fact that this was the second assassination attempt in three weeks. Maybe she needs to invest in a better alias. Or go dark for a month or so. That’s a last resort though. She’s got people counting on her.

 

She turns back to face the dance floor, passing silent judgment on the fads and fashions of the partiers. Hair feathers are back in. Platform shoes too, which in her opinion clash with the heavy skirts that women and non-binaries are favoring. She’s yet to decide her stance on the pointed ear implants when a pair of dancers moves, leaving a window to the other side of the room, and she sees him. Lounging on a wing-backed chair like a king holding court.

 

He sees her as well. He’s probably been watching her this entire time. Has he been following her? Since when? Did he see the chase?

 

She has more questions than that, but now he’s moving, gliding toward the back rooms, tempting her to follow. She does.

 

She licks her lips. Her skin is tingling, and it takes effort not to sprint but she manages it, pulling aside the velvet curtain. It isn’t even fully drawn before her wrist is grabbed and she’s pulled into the plush drawing room and slammed against the wall.

 

“ _Dyson_ …” She breathes with relief, exhaling a breath that she’s been holding for months. He says nothing, attacking her neck and inhaling her like she’s his only source of oxygen.

 

“When…?”

 

“This morning.” He answers. His hands are mapping her frame like he’s assessing her for damage. “Caught your scent just after the suit did. Took me a while to catch up but I took care of him.”

 

She nods, taking her own account of his body- arms, chest, legs, all intact. Thank God.

 

“One of Trybeck’s guys?”

 

“Didn’t ask. Don’t care. _Fuck_ Kenzi, I missed you.” Clearly, the business part of their conversation is over, as Dyson kisses her for all he’s worth. His beard is longer than it was a few months ago and she kind of hates that, but his hands are on her ass and his tongue is in her mouth so she really can’t complain.

 

“Are we alone?” Dyson looks over his shoulder. There’s another couple in an opposite corner paying absolutely no attention to them, and two of the several love seats and day beds are occupied with revelers too high to care about their presence. Dyson turns back to her, asking silently how to proceed.

 

“Screw it.” She says and jumps into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. He moves them together, depositing her on a soft surface.

 

“I thought about this every goddamn night.” He rumbles in her ear. “I’d stare at your picture like a lovesick kid. Caught hell from my squad about it.” He moves down her body, biting gently through her clothing along the way.

 

“You should have taken a pair of my panties like I told you to.” Her boots are removed, and then her leather pants. Her skin sings at the freedom and then burns when Dyson presses his mouth to the inside of her thigh.

 

“In a tent with three other men just as frustrated as me? Couldn’t take the chance. Besides…” He spreads her open and she has to bite back a moan. “It’d just make me hungrier for the real thing.”

 

Then his mouth is on her, his tongue inside her. His fingers push aside the underwear he was too impatient to remove as he fucks her open. It feels like forever before he actually enters her, and by that point, she’s practically sobbing with pleasure.

 

They move as one, like a conversation picked up as if there had been no interruption. He’s still trapped in some clothes and the lack of build up means there’s a ghost of pain with it, but it’s still perfect. She gets lost, drunk off the taste of his breath, but he calls her back.

 

“Open your eyes Kenz. Please.” When she does she can see him staring down at her, hungry and aching and maybe the tiniest bit scared. She grabs him by the scruff of the neck, pulling him even closer.

 

“It’s okay baby. I’m okay. Not a scratch, I promise.” His eyes fall shut, and to someone who has spent over three centuries learning the intricacies of Dyson, the relief on his face is evident. “And you took him out. My very own knight in black leather…” The corner of his mouth twitches. “So claim your prize.” She digs her nails in and drags them down his neck.

 

He groans and increases his speed. She comes first—she often wonders how he’s always able to manage that—and he follows a short time later. They shouldn’t stay there much longer. Now that he’s back in town there are things they need to talk about, but the closeness is too comforting, and she’s not ready to let it pass.

 

“You’ve got a beard.” He huffs.

 

“It’s easier than trying to scrounge up razors. You like it?”

 

“Not even a little.” His chest moves with silent laughter.

 

“There’s my girl.”

 

* * *

 

 

In the other room, Maddox motions to another man to take over at the bar. He slips out onto the back stairway and taps the Comm. button on his ID bracelet. The automated voice chirps.

 

“Who would you like to contact?”

 

“ID 87-X33-002” The line rings three times.

 

“Hello?”

 

“You told me to give you a call when he came back to town.” There’s a pause on the other end before the voice responds.

 

“So they’re safe? Both of them?”

 

“Safe as houses. Don’t know how long they’ll stay that way though. That girl’s list of enemies is growing daily.”

 

“Noted. Thank you.” The line cuts out abruptly. Maddox gives his ID bracelet a disapproving look.

 

“You’re welcome.” He shakes his head before heading back into the club.


End file.
